


Behind Blue Eyes

by Wellamyblake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 6x06 spec fic, F/M, not spec in the strict sense bc there's no way we'll get this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wellamyblake/pseuds/Wellamyblake
Summary: “Did you love her?” Closer. She stands before him now, leaning to put her hands on either side of the chair behind his shoulders.“Did you want her?” Her voice is a whisper. Their lips are almost touching now. Bellamy is frozen in place. He’s never been this close to her before, he can’t seem to catch a breath—She leans in farther, but before their lips can touch, a predatory smile spreads over her face.It’s like ice sliding down his spine. Not Clarke. There is no trace of his Clarke in that smile.





	Behind Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this ill-advised tweet thread I wrote: https://twitter.com/biqueenclarke/status/1133575214036586496?s=20
> 
> If only the writers had the balls to feed us like this in 6x06.

He comes to slowly, the room spinning.

It takes Bellamy a moment to remember where he is. It takes him another moment to remember why he’s been knocked out.

The events of the past day flash through his mind, ending on Clarke’s face leaning over him, only it wasn’t _Clarke-_

His heart stills in his chest. She can’t be dead. She can’t be. He’s just gotten her _back-_

But there had been nothing of Clarke in not-Clarke’s - _Josephine’s?_ \- eyes as she leaned over his paralyzed body.

If he was being honest, there had been nothing of his Clarke in her for the entire day.

Watching not-Clarke among their friends had been like missing the last stair on the staircase; expecting solid ground but instead stepping out into nothing.

She didn’t talk like Clarke, or walk like Clarke, or hug Madi like Clarke, or look him in the eye the way Clarke did- cutting through every pretense, peering into his soul.

_I should have realized sooner._

His self-blame session is cut short by the sound of the door swinging open.

It’s only when he tries to swing his head around to see who’s entered that he realizes how thoroughly he’s been trussed up against the wall. 

His back is pinned to the same wall he’d pinned not-Clarke to...last night, by the look of the light streaming through the windows of this abandoned classroom.

He sits on what must be an unused schoolroom chair with his legs bound before him.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

It is torture to hear her voice but have to wait for not-Clarke to actually move into his field of vision. 

Because he _knows_ that voice. 

That voice has buoyed him in his darkest moments, nudged him to laugh in the most hopeless situations, whispered its trust and love to him when he needed it most. That voice haunted him for six years in space.

But when she crosses the room to stand in front of him there can be no doubt that this voice no longer belongs to Clarke. 

He wants to look away; he wants to stare.

The lazy posture, cocked head, the empty sparkle in her eye - it’s a stranger standing in front of him.

He feels panic rising. She can’t be gone, she has to be in there somewhere, she _has to be_.

“I hope you’re not feeling too groggy from the paralytic. I need you to play ball, Bellamy Blake.”

He starts at the sound of his name on her lips. He says nothing. Maybe she’ll reveal something if he stays silent.

“I need to learn more about Clarke Griffin and her friends. None of this is going to work if you people don’t trust me.”

She hoists herself up onto the desk about five feet away from him with a carefree little hop.

“Something tells me you’re gonna be more helpful with that than John Murphy.”

_What does Murphy have to do with this? Does he know?_

Bellamy decides to play along. 

“Why would I help you?”

She looks pleased that he’s finally spoken up. 

She leans forward, like it’s a chat between friends.

“You want your friends to live, don’t you?”

“And you’ll spare them if I talk?” Bellamy shakes his head in a way that he hopes radiates amused confidence, not the fear and grief that grips him. “I may not have a computer chip for a brain, but I’m not an idiot.”

Real anger pulses through her eyes for a moment - he feels a small surge of victory - before she resumes her unrestrained smile.

“Oh, so you’re a tough one.” She nods knowingly. “Is that why Clarke trusted you so much?”

The question takes him momentarily aback, and he’s not sure he clears his face quickly enough to hide it.

“I mean, you are the only one who was playing close enough attention to notice that Clarke’s, well… me.” He can see that she thinks she’s on to something. 

Something about her sharp eyes alighting upon an idea makes her look achingly like Clarke, and Bellamy can hardly stand to be in the same room with her. Can hardly stand to be alive and awake with the knowledge that he’ll never see HIS Clarke with that expression ever again-

“Have you known each other for a long time?” She asks, probing. He says nothing. 

He’d like to think it’s out of obstinance, but right now the lump in his throat feels insurmountable.

She appears to take his silence as a no, or maybe she’s asking questions she already knows the answer to. 

“A short time then. Must have been intense for you to get to know each other so well. I suppose the apocalypse is stressful.” She studies him for a reaction.

He keeps his face carefully blank, none of the horror, guilt, vulnerability, of delicate hope of his time with Clarke shining through. Those memories are his, his and hers, and he’ll be damned if he lets her murderer have that piece of them.

The knowing light is back in her eyes. She slides off the desk.

“Or was it something more? Were you... involved?” She’s enjoying this. He’s never had the force of Clarke’s smile, however un-Clarke-like, directed at him for this long. “Star-crossed lovers, perhaps?”

When he doesn’t answer, she huffs a little laugh. “Hm, I guess not then.”

He tries to keep his face blank and gaze unwavering at her words. He doesn’t want, has never wanted, to look too closely at his feelings for Clarke. It’s an old scar concealed with a fresh wound, one he’s been content to let fester.

So he shoves away every quiet moment, every stare that lasted a beat too long, every deliberate touch, every shared burden and returned smile that stitched the fabric of his love for Clarke together. 

But the stranger with Clarke’s face has trapped his gaze and he knows those eyes, better than his own. He has stared into that blue on countless occasions, in poorly lit rooms, on rough forest floors, on the ground and in space, on two separate planets one hundred years apart - those blue eyes have been more a constant in his life than almost anything in the universe. 

Emotion crawls up his throat and he wrenches his gaze away from her.

He hears her sharp intake of breath.

“OH, but you _wanted_ to?” He quickly returns his gaze to her, trying to modulate his heart rate.

She steps closer, a spider with him caught in her web. 

Then her face softens, and his heart skips a beat. _Clarke_.

“Did you love her?” Closer. She stands before him now, leaning to put her hands on either side of the chair behind his shoulders.

“Did you want her?” Her voice is a whisper. Their lips are almost touching now. Bellamy is frozen in place. He’s never been this close to her before, he can’t seem to catch a breath—

She leans in farther, but before their lips can touch, a predatory smile spreads over her face. 

It’s like ice sliding down his spine. _Not Clarke_. There is no trace of his Clarke in that smile.

“Too bad she’s gone.” 

Bellamy doesn’t feel himself sag in his restraints as she pulls away from him, doesn’t see her leave the room with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

His whole body is distracted, consumed with a visceral knowledge that squeezes his chest and presses down on his heart until it’s painful.

The Clarke Griffin he loved is dead.


End file.
